Oh man, I was so happy to see this was posted. A flicker of hope? Another nudge towards despair? I'm not 100% I know the relevance of the number or the word box, I will have to look into this. As for Evan, god has he become awesome. "About yay big... I'm pretty good with em"

Well, the thoughts of my children never cease their torment of my sleeping hours. Seeing their beautiful faces, that's torture enough. But the night-terrors... they've returned.

Terrible, impossible things done to and by them. I know there's nothing I can do to help their memory, but every night, I wake up, preparing for a battle, readying myself to fight for their lives – only to remember that I've already failed them.

My dear Linnie was prominent in my most recent nightmare. I could see her, in the clearing of a wood, in the back of a bus, in a post office, on the phone. I could never see her face; my subconscious granted me no such gift. She was grown, an adult now, but I knew it was my Linnie.

I saw the rolling hills of rural Pennsylvania, the dense, beautiful mountain forests where Rosie and William found a comfortable community. Linnie was walking near a creek, holding a letter. As if sensing my non-existent presence, she looked up, as at the sound of a branch breaking, and quickly folded the letter, stuffing it into her gray hooded sweatshirt. She was traveling, away from the forest, away from her adopted home. She arrived at an inn, miles and hours away, and nervously approached the desk. I couldn't hear a discernible word. My world's communication was smothered under what felt and sounded like miles of water. In this dream-lobby, the darkness quickly set in and I felt that the scene was about to change. In a panic, I hurried out into the street and caught a glimpse of a sign on the side of the building: the Logan Inn. The site collapsed and I was suddenly standing at the top of a hill. A dilapidated brick building was before me. I was surrounded by a dead forest. Through the gray trees and brush, I could see a small town at the bottom of the mountain. I had just only asked "where in the hell am I?" when a very frightened, very determined Linnie pushed past the ghost of me and into the building.

It killed me to know that I was completely unable to help this vision, to change the evil that was inevitable.

She disappeared up a dark stairwell. Silence.

Then, I could hear her breathing. She was a floor or two above me, somewhere in this old building, which greatly resembled a school, and I couldn't move my legs.

[page break]

The hair on the back of my neck rose. Linnie's audible breathing slowed. She was trying to hold her breath, to become quiet, hidden. I became aware of this sensation most peculiar, as if I were physically aware of a lone spider crawling across a partition of glass. Somewhere, amongst the ruins, a creature was stirring.

Linnie stifled a meek cry. She knew this, as well. I was merely an observer in this wretched scene, unable to properly watch. As if I had the stomach to, regardless.

A taunting, hushed, guttural sound began to leak from the walls. Linnie never spoke, but I could feel her defeated thoughts: I'm too late. The sound came and went, varying pitch and volume, teasing my ill-fated daughter. The "spider crawling over glass" sensation manifested itself in a rustling of leaves here and there, a tipping-over of old furniture in a far reach of the school, a shrill craping noise on the brick wall in this corner. Linnie was being stalked.

The terrible growling rapidly increased as it honed in on Linnie's position upstairs. My darling daughter... she didn't give a desperate yell, a dying scream, as her breathing broke, and the inhuman shrill exploded, the world slowed, and I could hear her delicate voice whisper, "I'm sorry."

The scene went blank. I laid in my bed for twenty minutes, my eyes shut tight, not realizing that I was awake, waiting further images, trying to piece together what I could, trying to help, in vain.

That morning, I looked up and tracked down this "Logan Inn" – a small historical hotel in Pennsylvania, apparently – and asked frantically about my daughter, a Linnie, a woman in a gray sweatshirt, anything at all about the woman who was my daughter and their stranger. Absolutely nothing. I spoke with every employee from the previous two weeks over the course of the day. None of them could recall this person. I thanked them for their time.

Just a dream, James.

Perhaps it didn't happen. Maybe Linnie was still alive, just fine, dare I chance the word "happy," with my relatives, living out her life.

Maybe she survived the apparent curse my children held; maybe she outran her demon.

Although it may very well be my own nonsensical dream, I want to know why she was traveling that far east. Who was she looking for?

I'll type up the transcript of the ink-ribbon tonight. I think it may lead to something new

EDIT4: GF tweeted:

Quote :

"Finished. The ink-ribbon transcript is now viewable in the comments section of its photobucket image."

Transcript:

Quote :

10.28.1980 Where are you, my beloved? Where are you now in my darkest time of need, oh protector? After all the turmoil I went through to ensure my children, our family, a protected and loving life, you dare let such to hell with it. I'll continue writing in a few hours, Stephanie's now safe in bed. The whiskey's worn off. It's become quite apparent that we should look in to weaning her off the medicinal regimen; it's become far too complicated for a girl of her age to keep in order. I haven't written about the events since. The children were just having breakfast. Mary and I were in the living room, talking about replacing furniture, when Jeffrey came running down the stairs. My veins froze when he cried, tears streaming down his face, "Steph's dead! Steph's dead!"

OMG O.O/sidenote: Did you notice that HABvan (inoficial name for inHABITed Evan given by the users of unfiction) wears a shirt with a haunter (a dangerous ghost pokemon that hides in very dark places, where they plot to take the life of the next living thing that comes near. It then silently stalks its victims. ) on it? Coincidence? O.O

What was up with Evan's acting in this entry? I guess HABIT thrives on a steady diet of scenery. The ink ribbon info is also intriguing. I'd love to know how the past EMHers are connected to the present ones.